I suspect Ben wrote that one and signed it with a phony name. People do crazy things when they hurt.
The signal turned green. Driving ahead, I saw that the lights were on in the Courier office. Ben would likely be there organizing coverage along with Lizzie and the rest of the staff, if they weren’t already at the scene. Should I go there? They had probably tried to call me. Was I ready to talk with them? I’d need coffee first. I pulled into a space in front of Eden’s.
I hesitated before stepping out of the car, realizing what I must look like. My pajama bottoms, men’s dark navy plaid flannel with a drawstring waist, were conspicuous. I’d been wearing them for so many years, I’d forgotten until this moment that I’d appropriated them from Hugh. For a second my heart ached once more at the memory of him sleeping in them at my side, and then it went numb again.
I swung the visor down and quickly glanced in the mirror to check my hair. It resembled a bird’s nest. I looked awful. There were puffy bags under my eyes. My normally flawless skin was splotchy. Oddly, there was a small cut on my cheek, like a cat scratch, near the top of my right cheekbone. Even odder, there were pieces of dead leaves in my bangs. I brushed them away. Something dry and stiff dropped out of my hair into my lap.
A twig.
I stopped breathing for an instant.
I flipped the visor back up. How did I get that scratch on my face, and where had the twig and leaves come from? I hadn’t walked in the woods; I’d gone straight down the gravel driveway to the car when I left the house. I brushed my teeth the night before, and I hadn’t seen any of those things as I looked in the bathroom mirror. I glanced down at my fingernails. They were a little ragged. I guess I could have run a rough nail across my face while I slept. But that didn’t explain the twig and the leaves.
It couldn’t be . . .
No. Nope. Keep your head, Nora. That’s all over and done with. It stopped so long ago. Put it out of your mind.
The rain was starting to come down harder. I turned up the collar of my trench coat, bolted out of the car and ran for the coffee shop.
Stepping into the heart and soul of Pequod is like time traveling to the early 1960s, except for the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. There were a few patrons scattered inside Eden’s among the green-leather-upholstered booths and the chrome swivel stools at the soda fountain. I recognized the town’s pharmacist. They were all looking up at the TV, transfixed by the news. The same local reporter I’d seen earlier was repeating information I already knew. What I hadn’t noticed at first was Lizzie. She was standing on the far right by the register in her camouflage rain poncho and olive drab cargo pants. Her carroty hair was dripping wet.
“Nora!”
She spotted me at the door and hurried over carrying two coffees-to-go.
“I’ve been trying to call you. Have you heard about the Walkers?”
I nodded.
“I’m so sorry. You must be completely freaked out.”
“Lower your voice, please,” I whispered, motioning for her to follow me to a small wooden table in an empty section on the side. “I don’t want everyone in here to know about my connection to them.”
“Right. Right. Of course,” she whispered back.
I’d decided I had to tell Lizzie and Ben about my divorce the day she walked into the office and said a famous painter named Walker purchased the house at Pequod Point. The Courier publishes the largest real estate sales every month. Tracking them was part of Lizzie’s job. I’d figured she would do her research on Hugh and find out soon enough.
She set her coffees on the well-worn tabletop. We both sat down.
“So how are you doing?” she asked.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure. It’s hard to accept that it’s actually happened.”
She nodded gravely. “That’s normal. You’re in shock.”
It was almost reassuring to hear Lizzie confirm my self-diagnosis. It explained how crazy I felt.
“You’re right. Shock would be a normal reaction, wouldn’t it? What else have you heard? What does Ben know?”
“Ben is at the scene. I’m going over there now. He says they’re not letting the press past the end of the driveway. He’s working his contacts by phone.”
“So, there’s nothing beyond the preliminary report yet?” I asked, indicating the TV, which was airing the Sue Mickelson footage again.
“Well, one thing . . .”
“Tell me.”
“But it’s unconfirmed.”
“What is it, Lizzie?”
She hesitated and bit her lip.
“Come on, spill.”
“There’s an unconfirmed report saying they were shot in the bedroom. In their bed.”
“Oh shit.” I felt the blood drain from my face.
“God. You’ve gone white as a sheet, Nora. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. Like I said, it’s unconfirmed.”
“No. No. It’s okay. I’m glad you did. Who’s the source?”
“I don’t know. Ben got it from one of his people. Listen,” she said, frowning. “You should take care of yourself and go back home. We have this covered. I’m on it. Ben is on it. No one expects you to deal with this. Ben certainly doesn’t. He’s worried about you.”
“He is?” I was taken aback.
Lizzie nodded. “First thing he said, ‘This is going to be tough for Nora.’”
“But I need to do something.”
She noticed the time on her watch. “Damn. I have to get over there and snap some shots of the roadblock and cop cars. And we need quotes from neighbors.” She picked up the coffees. “Nora, promise you’ll go home?”
“Hmm?” I answered, dazed.
She looked at me sternly. “You. Home.”
I waved her away. “Okay, okay. I will.”
Lizzie left. I stared out the front window after her. Was it true? Had someone really acted out my fantasy and shot Hugh and Helene in their bed? How could I just sit on the margins listening to sound bites and watching looping TV images, waiting for other people to tell me what was going on? As my hands gripped the edge of the table, I felt the war inside me beginning, the wolf hair growing on my knuckles. I’d sworn I would never spy again. I promised myself.
“Coffee?”
“Huh?” I looked up at the waitress who’d appeared beside me.
“Sorry to make you wait. We just brewed a fresh pot.”
“No, thanks.” I stood up. “I just remembered I have to be somewhere.”
As I walked out of Eden’s onto the rainy street, I saw Mr. Duck waddling down the sidewalk toward me, quacking emphatically.
I got the distinct feeling that he was telling me to run.